


The One Where It All Went Wrong

by Jellymish



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: 12th Doctor Whump, Angst, Flu, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:10:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3819991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jellymish/pseuds/Jellymish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The moment she walked in in, she knew something wasn't quite the way it should be…"</p><p>Prompt – Guest (Someone): Sickfic with Twelve where it seems like he's just got an ordinary flu virus and then it suddenly turns out that it's not and it goes bad. Clara needs Danny's help to find out what it is. Bonus points if you can get in Vastra, Jenny and Strax!</p><p>Twelve sickfic. Doctor/Clara friendship, set between series 8 and 9. Multi chapter. Major hurt/comfort fluff, angst and lots and lots of feels later on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I apologise for not including Danny… I wrote loads of different drafts with him in it, but it just did not work out. He always ended up being "that one character who is dispensable" and if I'm writing a fic with Danny, that's the last thing I want for him. Either give them a good part or no part at all, is my rule. If a character is dispensable, chuck them out. But I'll see that I can do a Danny story sometime in the future, where he gets to be the hero and stuff! :) Cause I love him and I really want that for him.
> 
> I did manage to get the Paternoster Gang in there, so I guess minus points for the absence of Danny, but bonus points for the Gang? *is hopeful*
> 
> Anyway… I'm sorry, but I still hope you'll like it! :)
> 
> And last but not least, a small dedication: This is for a friend of mine who is going through a really tough time right now. Hope this fic brings some

**THE ONE WHERE IT ALL WENT WRONG – 1**

The moment she walked in, she knew something wasn't quite the way it should be.

It was strange. The Tardis still looked her usual old self thank goodness, but the atmosphere… the atmosphere was quite different. Quite dull. The room was darker than usual and except for the occasional blinking, the spotlights around the edge of the upper deck were turned off. And the Doctor was nowhere to be seen.

Usually he'd either be up ahead, doing… whatever with the console or down below, sitting at his desk, tinkering with some fancy gadget or other. And anyway, as soon as Clara would come in he'd jump up and run over to her, all excitement and anticipation for their next trip. A bit like a puppy, she thought, a smile playing on her lips.

But this time, she wasn't even sure if the Doctor was even in here. Maybe he was in the library or something. And… was that just her or was it much warmer in here than usual? The Doctor tended to keep the Tardis' climate in the range of 'bloody freezing', due to his own rather low body temperature and his refusal to be in any way accommodating towards his friends. _Put on a jumper,_ indeed…

"Doctor?" Clara tried cautiously, not really knowing what to expect. To tell the truth, she felt a bit silly calling for him like that.

There was a sudden clink of metal, a short cough and then a voice spoke up: "Over here." It had come from straight ahead. She did recognise that it was the Doctor's voice, but Clara couldn't help but notice that its pitch seemed to be a notch... deeper than usual. But maybe that was just her. The acoustics in the Tardis control room were weird anyway.

Clara frowned, slowly walking along the middle of the room, until she spotted the Doctor's legs sticking out from under the console. He was lying on his back, head stuck amongst the wires of the central column, in exactly the right way to make him invisible from the entrance. There were gadgets and tools strewn all around him. Including the actual toolbox, which was tipped over to conveniently spill all its contents towards him.

"Hey, mister grumpy-face!" Clara smiled. "For a moment there, I thought you'd gone out and forgotten all about me," she said and gently kicked her foot against his shoe. He immediately pulled it away with an annoyed 'harrumph'-sound. Clara leaned her back against the console and let her eyes wander along the gloomy bookshelves at the top of the room. "So… any chance you'll tell me why you're hiding yourself under the console? Did the old girl have another hiccup?"

"She _can_ hear you, you know!" the Doctor rasped. And it was a textbook _rasp_. It sounded like his vocal cords were laced with sand. Unfortunately, that didn't stop him from carrying on. "And anyway, I'm not h–"

His words were cut short when the 'H' turned into a long, breathy cough, after which several more followed. It sounded rather painful. Clara pulled a face in sympathy, when he finally managed to continue after another two failed attempts. "… I'm _not_ hiding… I'm _working_."

Clara waited patiently for him to add some other quip, but all he did was clear his throat, sniff and carry on tinkering. "You sound terrible," she finally commented.

Another sniffle came from below. Somehow, he managed to fill the sound with a very deep sense of irritation. "'Course I do."

"Cold?"

"Flu."

Having stared straight ahead for most of the conversation, she now turned her head to the side, frowning. "You've got the _flu?_ Shouldn't you be, I dunno… in bed? Or in your comfy chair, reading a book? Instead of lying around on the floor?"

"It isn't _that_ bad yet!" the Doctor protested rather unconvincingly, because he could hardly get the words out.

Clara rolled her eyes theatrically. "Doctor, you can hardly speak three words. Yes, it _is_ that bad. Go to bed!"

"I only need something to drink… _Oh,_ this is _ridiculous..._ " he added in a croaked whisper, as his voice finally started disappearing altogether. Trying to get some semblance of control back over his vocal cords, he cleared his throat forcefully, which then launched him into the second coughing fit in as many minutes.

Shaking her head, Clara sighed. "Okay, that's it. You definitely need something against that cough… I'll be in the kitchen. If the Tardis hasn't moved it again, that is…" she informed the spluttering Time Lord and took a few steps towards the stairs. Then she hesitated, turned around and added: "And for god's sake, Doctor, come out from under there! You're going to hurt yourself."

It didn't take Clara all _that_ long to find the kitchen, even though the Tardis had indeed moved it to a totally different corridor than the last time she'd been aboard. She wasn't at all sure if the old ship did it to spite her or if that was just… normal. Or rather, as normal as a life on board a time machine with a consciousness and the appearance of a police box could get. The Doctor certainly never seemed to complain about disappearing rooms…

Fifteen minutes later, she was back in the console room, holding two steaming cups. Only to find the Doctor stomping his foot on the floor repeatedly and groaning, still half-hidden under the console.

"Doctor… What the hell are you doing?", she questioned him, making her way up to the main floor

He was now stretching his legs out and wiggling his feet, as people do when they're trying to get a pain response under control. "If you must know," he muttered, "I sneezed and hit my forehead on a metal rod in the column… Stop laughing, it's not funny! It _hurts!"_

Clara held her breath to get her chortling under control. Without much success, because a moment later, she burst out into full-out laughter. She just couldn't help herself. The picture her mind presented her with was simply too funny.

"Yes, yes, please keep amusing yourself at my expense. Thank you very much, Clara, you're an enormous help right now!" he exclaimed testily, letting his arms fall to the ground.

Meanwhile, Clara finally got herself under control enough to speak again. "Well, maybe you shouldn't stick your head into any confined spaces right now."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Taking a seat next to the Doctor's legs, she nudged him with her knee and asked: "So, are you comin' out from under there or am I going to have to drag you?"

A tired sigh drifted over to her and then a rather defeated-sounding "Oh, _okay_ ", as the Doctor wiggled himself out of the opening and sat up, blinking several times, as if trying to focus his eyes. His eyebrows were set in a deep frown and his face carried the sort of sour expression of a person who was feeling deeply uncomfortable.

For the first time, since she'd arrived, Clara was able to have a good, long look at her friend.

It was quite obvious to her that he wasn't feeling well in the _least_. First of all, he seemed to be wearing his entire wardrobe, all at once. Not just the hoodie and the jacket, but also a thick, woollen jumper, a shirt and probably a t-shirt under that as well. And most surprising of all… a brilliant, red scarf. For a man who usually despised any neckwear, especially the kind that that was long, thick and made of wool, that was a telltale sign to his current disposition. And not to mention the unnatural gleam of his eyes and paleness of his skin. He was already quite a pale person, but right now his skin tone looked positively _grey_. All in all, it was safe to say that he looked absolutely _miserable_.

"Please don't comment," the Doctor sighed, as if knowing what she was thinking.

Clara felt a pang of sympathy for him, watching as he took both his hands up to his face and started tiredly rubbing his eyes, letting another series of coughs slip out.

"Yeah, I won't," she promised and offered him one of the cups by holding it out to him.

He pulled his palms back, letting them rest on the top of his head, so that his fingers got entangled in his hair and eyed the beverage suspiciously. "What _is_ it?"

"Warm milk and honey," Clara explained. "My gran always used to make that for me when I was ill. Works wonders on a sore throat. Plus, it's delicious."

The frown on the Doctor's face told her that he didn't quite believe her words, but he grabbed hold of the cup anyway. "Thanks," he muttered and, after a moment of close scrutinisation, took a sip. Then, the frown lifted itself and he nodded in mild approval. "Not bad."

Clara smiled into her own cup. "Told you. Works wonders," She pointed out again, before she took a swig of her tea.

The Doctor followed suit and took a rather larger gulp of milk this time, sighing contentedly as the warm liquid trickled down his sore throat. For the first time since crawling out from his hidey-hole, he looked up and locked gazes with Clara. "Your gran is a very wise woman."

Clara smiled at him. "Yeah, she is, isn't she?"

Seeing her expression, he gave her a half-smirk and turned his head again, letting the back of it rest against the console. A sudden sense of fatigue started spreading through his body and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to yawn.

Clara picked up on it. "You should really get some rest," she pointed out, giving him a long look. "Actually you should've gotten some rest ages ago, judging by the way you look."

The Doctor frowned, but kept his eyes shut. "Didn't you agree _not_ to comment?"

"It _is_ my civil duty as your carer to comment when you're being stupid," she informed him jokingly.

The Doctor gave a small, amused huff. "You care so I don't have to?"

"Exactly," she responded and took another swig of her tea. Then she frowned. "As we already _are_ on the subject of stupidity… Explain to me quickly why you thought it was a good idea to take the console apart when you already _knew_ you had the flu?"

Another frown, then his eyes shot open a fraction. "I err…" The Doctor let his mouth hang open for a few seconds, while he thought of a good response. There wasn't one. "Well, to be honest I didn't think it would progress that fast. So, I thought I could get some maintenance work done before it _really_ hit me," he explained. There was a short, embarrassed pause. "I think I might've overdone it a bit…"

Clara raised her eyebrows in agreement and nodded slowly. "You know, for all your cleverness when it comes to fighting monsters, you can be _very_ short-sighted about your own health. And that's putting it _mildly_."

"Thank you for the input. I'll write it down," the Doctor responded sourly, while setting down his cup on the floor and then fiddling for something in his pocket. He pulled out a rather tattered handkerchief and managed to clasp it to his nose just before his head shot forward with a forceful sneeze.

"Bless you," Clara told him dutifully.

"Don't bother," the Doctor muttered, his voice muffled through the fabric, just before he sneezed again. Then he sagged forward with a frustrated grunt, seemingly giving up on any pretence that he might have been feeling better than he actually _was_. After resting his forehead on his knees for a moment, he straightened up again, a shiver running down his spine. Handkerchief still in his hand, he wrapped his arms around himself and took a shuddering breath. "This is so… _undignified_ ," he sighed, sending an icy glare up to the bookshelves, as if his misfortune had everything to do with their existence.

Clara took this as her cue. "Okay! Time for bed," she announced and got to her feet, putting her empty cup on the console and stretching out her hand to help the Doctor follow.

He eyed her palm for a moment, then turned his eyes up at her, going "Yes, _mum_ ," in an impressive display of sarcasm.

"Oi, use that tone on me again and you'll regret it."

"Oh yes, I bet I will," the Doctor agreed, nodding theatrically. But he finally accepted Clara's help and reached up to grab her hand. He felt quite weird upon standing up. Not exactly dizzy, but probably on the way there. Then, feeling his breath catch in his throat again, he turned away from Clara and caught another short coughing spasm in his sleeve.

"You know, I've just realised something," her voice piped up from behind him. "Am I runnin' into any danger of catching some sort of fatal alien bug from hangin' around you?"

The Doctor turned to face her, clearing his throat for the millionth time "Oh _yes_ ," he said gravely.

"O-kay…" Clara stated, frowning "You're joking… right?"

"No, absolutely not," the Doctor responded, shrugging. "I've decided to stay on earth because I desperately want to spread a deadly alien disease among the human race." He paused for effect, then gave Clara a pointed look. " _Of course_ it's not contagious to you, Clara! I may be stupid sometimes, but I'm not _that_ stupid!"

She sensed the familiar feeling of frustration creep up from inside her. Sometimes, she desperately wanted to punch him. "Well, sorry for askin' a perfectly reasonable question…" At least he still had his sarcasm, so things couldn't be _that_ bad, could they? The moment he lost his terrible sense of humour, that's when she'd _really_ start worrying.

"Anyway," she began again, just when the Doctor had settled against the console and let his eyes droop closed again. "You should get some rest, I have marking to do… So, I guess I'll head home now…" After a moment of uneasy silence, Clara settled down next to him and started drumming her fingers against the metal frame of the flight controls. "Are… you gonna be all right? On your own, I mean?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just because… well, I don't like to be alone when I'm ill, so I thought maybe you'd want some company too. Or, you know… in case anything went… wrong."

The Doctor sighed, opened his eyes and gave Clara a tired side-glance. Her facial expression was filled with worry. "It's not like it's anything deadly, Clara," he pointed out, trying to reassure her. "Just an ordinary flu virus. I'll be _fine_ on my own. Probably sleep through most of it, the way I'm feeling right now…" at that, he sniffed and started rubbing his eyes again. "Go home and… do whatever you do when you're at home."

Clara smiled half-heartedly. "Mainly marking."

The Doctor nodded. "Yes, Go home and… do that."

There was another long pause, in which Clara regarded the lean frame of the Doctor next to her. And the slightest hint of worry made itself known in her mind. She couldn't help it. She hated seeing her best friend like this and the last thing she wanted was for him to be left alone when he needed her. Not that he _needed_ her, but… you never knew, did you?

She finally pulled herself together and turned towards the Doctor. "Look, just make sure you park the Tardis somewhere near the school, okay? So I can check up on you tomorrow during lunch break."

"Clara, I already told you–"

"Just to ease my mind. Please?"

For a brief moment, he glared at her. Until he was once again interrupted by his own coughing. "Fine. _Fine_ ," he managed after the spell had passed, "if it makes you feel any better, yes I will park near the school."

"Good…" Clara said, gaze wandering towards the Tardis doors. She started chewing on her bottom lip, suddenly feeling nervous at the prospect of her next words. She hadn't wanted to tell him about it just yet, but… better safe than sorry, right? "And it's not… Coal Hill. It's a new school. Started last week. I'll… text you the address."

As expected, the Doctor's eyebrows twitched upwards in surprise. "A new school?"

"Yes, well, oh. Look at the time! I _really_ need to get going," she said quickly, her cheeks turning slightly more red as if she were embarrassed. "I'll just… put the cups back into the kitchen and leave you alone…"

The Doctor shrugged. "Don't bother, I'll drop them off myself. It's on the way."

"You sure?"

"Perfectly."

"Okay, then…" she let the words hang in the air, but didn't quite turn to leave just yet. She didn't _want_ to leave. She didn't want him to be on his own right now. Not while he was ill.

But, picking up on her hesitation, the Doctor once again let out a sigh. "Clara, as nice as this little tea party is, I am _very_ tired and you need to see to it that you do all your boring, human every-day-life things. And stop _worrying_. It's only a spot of flu. I've survived worse!"

Clara closed her eyes briefly, trying to force herself to calm down. He was right. It wasn't like he'd caught some sort of deadly infection or anything. It was just the flu. "You're right," she agreed, opening her eyes again. "Just… make sure you get better soon, okay? Or _else_. Consider yourself warned," she added, a smirk playing on her lips as she started walking towards the Tardis doors. "And don't forget: School. Tomorrow. I'll text you!"

"Yes, mum," the Doctor retorted again, amusement in his eyes.

"Doctor, stop calling me that!"

"I will, if you stop _acting_ like that."

Clara gave him a narrow-eyed glance, before settling on an answer. "Fair enough," she said, with only some suspicion in her voice. Then she smirked, stepped outside and closed the door behind her. For a moment, she leaned against the Tardis' blue frame, taking a couple of deep breaths. She didn't entirely know where the uneasy feeling was coming from, but… no, she was probably just over-thinking things… She had a tendency to do that, especially concerning people who were close to her. She couldn't help it. Not after everything that had happened…

But he was the _Doctor_. He was going to be fine.

He was going to be _fine_ …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was it for chapter one! Hope you liked it! :)
> 
> Would be awesome if you could leave a review and tell me what you thought about it. And don't hesitate to tell me if you have any ideas concerning the next couple of chapters!
> 
> (Also, I'm still working on one other prompt but I'll gladly take more, if you have any ideas you want to get rid of! ;) Be that sickfic or any other thing that tickles your fancy. I only write platonic relationship stuff though. But that doesn't mean it can't be fluffy and sweet. Two words: Friendship feels!)


	2. Chapter 2

**THE ONE WHERE IT ALL WENT WRONG – 2**

Throughout the next morning, Clara found it extremely difficult to concentrate on her work.

Not only had she hardly been able to sleep that night and was now dreadfully tired, but even in the classroom, her thoughts kept drifting back to the Doctor. During the routine morning meeting in the teacher's room she had been so despondent that a colleague had pulled her aside after, to ask her if she was all right. Of course, she had answered that nothing was wrong. But her colleague had probably not believed a word. It had reflected itself in her sympathetic look and the way she had patted Clara's shoulder.

She probably wasn't making a very good impression, considering this was her first week teaching at this school…

Now, it was almost time for lunch break and for once, she was even more eager to get out of the classroom than her students. Checking the clock on the wall every two minutes, as the time ticked by painfully slowly, she felt more and more anxious about seeing the Doctor. Until finally, the bell rang.

Clara jumped up and left the classroom even before the first student had managed to pack their things.

It didn't take her too long to spot the Tardis, which stood in a darkened alleyway, just around the corner from the school. She was carrying a plastic bag with a few supplies, having considered it a good idea to stop at a nearby supermarket and, just in case, a chemist's. She knew that meds intended for humans would probably not work on a Time Lord, but who was to say that there couldn't be a lucky exception?

Making sure that no one was looking in on her, she tentatively knocked on the blue wood of the Tardis and entered, squeaking hinges announcing her arrival. Then, after closing the doors behind her, she made her way to the console.

Not much had changed since she'd left the previous day. The Doctor's toolbox and gadgets were still covering most of the floor and the lights were similarly dimmed, maybe even a bit more. She did notice that the cups were still where they'd left them, but she really didn't blame the Doctor for not taking them to the kitchen. He'd probably headed straight for his room, considering how tired he'd been…

Well, she'd just have to take care of that later on. Right now, all she wanted to do was to see the Doctor and reassure herself that he was still okay. Or rather, as okay as he could be right now…

Just as she was about to leave the console room in search of the Doctor's bedroom, she noticed a faint, repeating echo.

Someone was lightly snoring up ahead.

A smirk forming on her lips, Clara went back up the stairs and then gingerly made her way to the upper deck, trying not to make too many rustling noises with her plastic bag. The Tardis was kind enough to turn the lights up a notch, so Clara could at least see where she was going. The sight in front of her caused her smile to widen into a grin.

Almost like a cat, the Doctor was half-sitting, half-lying on his side in the big armchair, several blankets wrapped tightly around himself, so that the top of his head only just poked out of the bundle. He was facing the wall, the fluffy fabric on top of him raising and lowering itself with the rhythm of his breathing, as he slept soundly. On the floor, Clara spotted a teacup, a pile of carelessly discarded books, a plate with a half-eaten piece of toast and next to that, a small metal bin.

Clara breathed a sigh of relief and mentally kicked herself for worrying so much. He'd certainly made himself comfortable here… And the fact that he'd even managed to eat somethingmade her feel a lot better.

Deciding she had nothing better to do, she stacked up some of the heavier volumes, sat down on them and picked up another book, this time for reading purposes. Of course, she immediately recognised the cover image. _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone…_

Somehow, she'd never really thought of this Doctor as the sort of person who would read _Harry Potter._ His last incarnation, certainly. But ever since the regeneration… Somehow she just didn't take him as a man who read fantasy books. Not until now, at least.

She was definitely going to have an extensive book discussion with him once he felt better.

Suddenly, as if reacting to some sort of cue, she heard how the Doctor's previously steady breath hitched. For a moment, he didn't make a sound, until a grunt emanated from within the mound of blankets, followed by a short, sharp intake of air. And then he lapsed into a frantic series of coughs.

All Clara could think was a sympathetic _Oh dear, here we go again…_ That could _not_ be a nice way to wake up.

It turned out to be the worst coughing fit so far. Or maybe just the worst one that Clara had witnessed, which certainly _was_ a troubling thought. It went on for ages, each intake of air triggering another spasm, until the Doctor sat doubled over, head between his legs and arms wrapped around his own shaking body. Clara desperately wished that she could somehow help him make it stop, but all she could do was to kneel next to him, rubbing his back gently and talking to him in hushed, soothing tones.

"Shhhhh, it's going to be okay… It's going to be okay… Just try to calm your breaths… that's it… shhhh, that's it…" she murmured on repeat, hoping to somehow help him get his breathing under control. And to give him a bit of moral support as well.

After a perceived eternity, the fit gradually subsided, until the Doctor finally managed to breathe normally again. Clara continued to rub gentle circles on his back as he slowly straightened himself up, propped his elbows up on his legs and buried his face in his hands, making a small whimper-y sound. He was shivering all over. Not surprising, seeing how he'd involuntarily shaken all the blankets off.

Clara got up, gathered the fabric up from all around him and put them back in place, one by one. "Any better?" she asked, as the Doctor reached for the edges of the blankets and pulled them back around himself.

He gave a curt nod in response, but kept his eyes squeezed shut as he sank deeper and deeper back into the warmth of his bundle. Meanwhile, Clara bent down, picked up the teacup, which still had a bit of liquid left in it and offered it to the Doctor, saying "Here you go… It's cold, but better than nothing. You must be absolutely parched."

The Doctor blinked his eyes open and stared groggily at the white ceramic cup hovering in front of him, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with it. Then, his brain finally catching up to him, he reached one hand out from under the blankets and grabbed it carefully. He made a bit of a grimace when he swallowed a mouthful.

Clara somehow felt the need to lighten the mood, as the heavy silence surrounding them was making her nervous. "Well… Cold tea. Not the best thing in the world…" she said, smiling apologetically.

The Doctor shrugged, emptying the rest of the cup in one go and then set it down in the nearest bookshelf. "Could be worse," he whispered hoarsely, causing himself to cough again. "… Just hurts a bit, that's all."

"Yeah… Not surprising." Clara sighed, regarding him with a sympathetic gaze.

Poor Doctor. He didn't exactly look any better than the day before. If anything, his complexion was far worse. Not only did he have even less colour in his face, he also displayed the telltale signs of a fever. Glazed eyes with dark circles forming under them, a slight blush in his cheeks and a fine sheen of sweat along his temples, not to mention the shivering… He wasn't even trying to suppress it much. Which worried Clara to no end. _He must be feeling absolutely miserable,_ she told herself in the privacy of her own mind.

Her thoughts must've been written all over her face, because having noticed Clara's look of sympathy, the Doctor started glaring up at her in irritation.

"Stop lookin' at me like that," he mumbled, letting himself retreat even deeper into the blankets, until the bottom half of his face was totally covered up and his eyes poked out just above the edge of the fabric. Coupled with his wild hair, which was sticking out in all directions, it made him look like a grumpy old owl. "It's embarrassing," he added sourly, voice muffled.

"Well… you're ill, Doctor. And there's absolutely no reason to be _embarrassed_ about that." Clara tried an encouraging smile, even though her heart wasn't really in it. The cold lump of worry forming in her stomach was too much of a distraction.

The only answer was another irritated grunt and the shift of his glare away from her and towards the central column.

Clara decided to change the subject.

Clearing her throat, she bent down and picked up her supplies from where she'd left them next to her makeshift book-chair. The Doctor visibly perked up at the rustling sound. "What's that?" he asked, suspiciously eyeing the white plastic bag in Clara's hands.

"Goodie-bag," she explained.

The Doctor's frown deepened. "Goodie-bag?"

Clara nodded. "Thought it'd be a good idea to go to the shops and get some things… How do you feel about food? Toast isn't really the right thing for your throat right now, is it?"

"I hate chicken soup," the Doctor pointed out, seemingly guessing what must be concealed inside the white plastic.

"I know," Clara replied, "that's why I brought some veggie and some noodle soup. Your choice."

The sceptical look on his face lightened a bit. "Okay…" he began, pausing as he thought about it. "Veggie sounds good… Can't promise anything though."

"Got it."

About twenty minutes later, they were both sitting at the little corner table in the Tardis' small kitchen, eating soup. Or rather, Clara was. The Doctor, after having taken a couple of mouthfuls, was now listlessly stirring the liquid with his spoon. He had his head propped up on one hand and was staring at nothing in particular. It almost seemed as if he was in a world of his own.

"Not hungry?" Clara piped up, slurping up another batch of noodles.

The Doctor shrugged. "Don't have much appetite…" he mumbled, flicking a quick glance over at Clara, who sighed.

"Just try to take a little bit more. The only thing you've eaten today was half a toast, Doctor. You _need_ food if you want to get better."

Instead of an answer, he closed his eyes tiredly and shook his head.

"Please?" She tried, "I mean, you don't need to finish the whole bowl. Just take a couple more spoonfuls, okay?"

Again, the Doctor's head shook in negation. "Don't think I can keep it down," he explained, trying and failing to suppress a yawn. It ended up making him choke again.

Clara decided not to pressure him about the food any longer. She couldn't really force him to eat when he didn't want to and a little soup was better than nothing. Instead, she picked up the plastic bag and set it down in the middle of the table. There _had_ to be something here that could help with that nasty cough. From the sound of it, chances were high that he was developing a chest infection… Or maybe, he already _had_ one.

"What… what are you… doing?" the Doctor managed in-between coughs.

"Got some meds here…" Clara explained, "Didn't really know what state you'd be in, so I just grabbed a couple things. Wanna have a look?"

Having more or less brought his breathing under control again, he stretched out a hand. "Let me see," he said, wheezing a little.

She handed the bag over to him and the Doctor started digging through its contents, mumbling while he was taking out and closely inspecting one packet after another. "Nope… Won't work… Won't work either… _Aspirin?_ Definitely keep that one away… _Ah!_ "

Clara raised her eyebrows. "What, 'ah'?"

"This," the Doctor announced triumphantly and pulled out one of the little cardboard boxes. Inside it was a bottle of your standard over-the-counter cough syrup. "This might help. Tastes terrible, but works a treat."

Leaning back, he held the bottle into the light and craned his neck to read the tiny little letters, which declared the formula for its contents. In shifting his position, the Doctor had once again dislodged his blankets, making them slip off his shoulders. And now, his neck was exposed.

And that was when Clara saw it for the first time.

Her eyes shot open. Feeling the cold, worried lump inside her chest tighten, she got up and strode over to her friend with determined steps. "Doctor… hold still," she demanded in a sudden, strict tone.

Immediately, the Doctor's frown deepened and his attention shifted from the bottle to Clara's face. The look in her eyes unsettled him deeply. "Clara? What's wrong?"

"I said hold still. And don't speak," she ordered, placing her fingertips on the damp hair at the back of his head and gently touching the area below his chin with the other hand. "Chin up. Head to the right… That's it…" Then she removed both her hands and leaned a little closer, squinting her eyes.

Feeling a little spooked by her close proximity, the Doctor discreetly tried to lean away. Clara wouldn't have any of it. "Hold still!" she exclaimed, hunkering down to get a better look. Then, she lifted her thumb and started tracing something on the side of his neck, from the top downwards.

Suddenly, the Doctor flinched away, simultaneously making a hissing sound, as he sucked air through his gritted teeth. "Ow! Clara, what are you doing?!" he protested, hand darting up and covering the spot she had just painfully touched. A mistake, as he immediately jerked it away again, pulling a grimace. " _Ow_ ," he repeated, confused.

Clara stared, feeling the stealthy beginnings of panic bubble up inside her. "Doctor, this is important…" She told him gravely. „Is it normal for a Time Lord to get a… a _rash_ when they have the flu?"

The Doctor's frown deepened and for a moment, he left his mouth hanging open. "What rash?" he finally asked.

Clara's eyes wandered down to his neck again.

There, crawling up his skin from under the collar of his pullover, red-rimmed, snaky and angry-looking, was an accumulation of dark, blueish lines. It almost looked like a fresh tattoo of a finely drawn tree.

Only… she knew it wasn't.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, she grabbed the Doctor's wrist, locked her eyes with his and said: "We need to go to the medical bay. _Right now_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of part two. Things are definitely getting interesting… ;) Stay tuned for the next part.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's read, followed, faved and reviewed this story! You are all awesome people! Thank you so much for all your kindness! And I hope I won't disappoint as the story goes on.


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